


Ennui

by Augustus



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-25
Updated: 2002-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 04:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3235835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the new Guns n' Roses can get a little boring at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ennui

Axl Rose was feeling irksome. It wasn't that he was sick of being a Rock God. He liked the screaming audiences, the multi-million dollar record deals and the tight, white bike shorts. He even liked the constant press speculation about whether the _new_ Guns n' Roses were likely to be a complete waste of space, because at least that meant the world hadn't forgotten him. But he was bored.

Life with the old crowd had never been boring. There was always one of Slash's snakes getting loose and terrorising an entire hotel floor, or one of Duff's hair over-bleaching disasters to deal with. And, back in the _really_ old days, you could always count on a naked and drug-fucked Steve to wander into your room at the _most_ inopportune of times. That would always lead to one of Izzy's professionalism rants, which would lead to yet another rant about Indiana and a fun-filled night of ripping out hotel fittings and throwing them off balconies onto the waiting mob of press and fans below.

These days, the mob was a lot smaller. If he had cared to do so, Axl might even have been able to recognise a few, ageing faces night after night. There were less jolly escapades with his bandmates too. Sure, Buckethead could awe a crowd with his bucket-wearing prowess, but wearing a water storage implement on one's head didn't exactly lead to coherent and interesting conversations. The others were no better. Hell, Axl, like most of their fans, didn't even care to learn any of their names.

It was times like this, sitting backstage and arranging his collection of atomic eighties headbands into colour groups, that Axl began to wonder whether the whole court case had been a good idea. Sure, he was now the legal owner of the name "Guns n' Roses", but what did that matter, really, when the international newspapers seemed more interested in whether he had put on weight (he had) and whether Buckethead was a stupid name (it was) than whether the new album was going to be any good.

The news that Slash and Duff were collaborating on Izzy's latest album didn't help much, either. He was... well... Axl _missed_ them. He missed their drug-fuelled rampages and zany hairdos, he missed their complete lack of political correctness, and he missed the way that drunken, homophobic raving would usually end up with a night of passionate (but not at all homosexual) shagging in Izzy's hotel room. 

Of course, after Izzy had left the group, muttering something about finding someone who wasn't afraid of his own sexuality, things had changed a little. Gilby took over as rhythm guitarist, and Slash took over as Axl's drunken shag. Things were different with Slash, naturally, but it was still the same pattern. Unlike now...

Sighing, Axl finished with the headbands and began the complicated task of polishing his sneakers without getting any white polish on the glossy red stitched "Axl"s that adorned them. And, after that, he thought he might try our some outfits for the next night's show. He was having a hard time deciding between the see-through white bike shorts and un-PC tee-shirt combo, and the kilt and short stop padding ensemble.

A loud commotion outside his door jolted Axl from the pleasant occupation of practising pouts and hair flicking in his dressing room mirror. Someone was shouting his name in a drunken fashion, while someone else was cursing at the top of his voice. Intrigued, Axl made a snap decision to rearrange the night's schedule, and wandered outside to investigate.

The first thing he noticed was that Buckethead was looking rather... dented. This was quickly followed by the astute observation that said denting might well be the result of the guitar that was currently being smashed repeatedly over his head. Axl couldn't see a great deal of Buckethead's assailant, but there was something very familiar about those shaggy curls...

"Slash?"

The guitar was cast aside as Axl's ex-bandmate appeared from behind the bulk of Buckethead. "Axl! My bestest buddy!"

Taking a look at the expression on Buckethead's bucket, Axl quickly ushered Slash into his dressing room, giving the golden star on the door a quick polish with his sleeve on the way past. Once inside, he turned to Slash. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Pushing aside a tonne or so of hair, Slash smiled drunkenly. "I was just in the area..."

"In Brazil?"

Slash shrugged. "Something like that."

Perplexed, Axl began to rustle through his wardrobe, thinking that his current attire probably wasn't the best suited to reunions with estranged lead guitarists. He usually saved the chaps and white leather for hot dates and Sunday roasts at his grandmother's place. "If Buckethead has concussion, I will not be pleased," he muttered, pulling out a pair of Stars and Stripes leggings for further consideration.

"I always liked those ones," Slash offered.

Giving Slash's outfit a quick once-over, Axl tossed the leggings to one side. "Why are you here? Really?

Slash ignored the question. "Do you have any beer?"

Axl shook his head.

"Vodka? Scotch? West Coast Coolers?"

"Slash..." Axl used his best 'answer me or I'll castrate you' voice. 

A second later, he found his arms full of a very hairy, very drunk and somewhat slobbery Slash. "You're my bestest, *bestest* buddy!" emanated from somewhere in the vicinity of Axl's armpit.

"We haven't seen each other for a year," Axl replied, remarkably sensibly for someone wearing chaps. "And the last time I _did_ see you, you told me to 'fuck off and fuck a mountain goat', if I remember it correctly."

"So shoot me for being a romantic," Slash snuffled into Axl's shoulder.

"Romantic?" Axl pushed him away, horrified. "What are you, a faggot or something?"

"No fucking way!" Slash made a grab for Axl's crotch. "Wanna fuck?"

Axl frowned. "In a purely heterosexual manner?"

"Of course."

Twenty-five seconds later, Axl lit up a post-coital cigarette (Slash had smoked throughout) and climbed off the make-up counter. Perhaps things hadn't changed so much after all.

Sighing, Axl tried to block out the sounds of Slash's snoring as he returned to the task of picking out the following night's outfit, wondering if there wasn't something to be said for boredom after all.

**25th February 2002**


End file.
